


come home

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Brief mention of throwing up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Depression, Narcolepsy, Song fic, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, YOUR HEART WILL HURT, big sad, drug mention if you squint, shuichi is a bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:11:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: on nights like this, she wonders if she’s better off dead.





	come home

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics are from "ilomilo" by billie eilish :)

_told you not to worry_

  


as the knocking outside maki’s door persists, her heartbeat grows louder and more rapid. every time momota pounds his knuckles on the door, or rings the melodious doorbell, her memories take her back to ominous footsteps gracing the floor of an orphanage. 

 

_they knocked on her door and spoke in assured words that hardly covered the menace of their threat. maki heard azumi cry, so maki attempted to offer bittersweet comfort. it seemed to be enough, but azumi was still wailing, and she didn’t even know that had maki not stepped up, azumi would be the one assassinating innocent people._

 

_the other kids surrounded maki in a hug, and she attempted to keep her breath steady despite the panic overcoming her body. she was doing this to protect them, but they had no clue they were hugging a future killer. one of the adults looking after them looks at maki coldly, knowing the sacrifice she was making for the orphanage, yet not caring to wish her goodbye._

 

“maki!”

 

“go away, momota. i’m fine.”

 

“i’m not leaving until you open this door.”

 

“you’re going to be here for a while.”

 

“i don’t care. c’mon, maki, please?”

 

“no.”

 

“...”

 

“...”

  


_but maybe that’s a lie_

  


she curls her body into a tight ball on her bed, her blanket barely covering her. careful not to make a sound, she allows the tears to fall down her face. one touches her cupid’s bow and it tastes like the nights after she would kill defenseless civilians.

 

how did it feel?

 

how did amami feel when the ball hit him and just like that, his life was gone? what did akamatsu-- stupid, optimistic akamatsu-- think when her end was imminent? how did every victim of maki’s react to a young girl pointing a pistol at their forehead?

 

_bang bang bang!_

 

momota would probably return to her door tomorrow and coax her outside. and eventually, knowing her, she would give in and agree because anything was better than this. she lets out a small sob and instinctually covers her face with her hand. she waits for someone to reprimand her, but then she realizes that she’s alone.

 

the word “alone” is a trigger, and maki reminisces on the past. every night for years, she would cry herself to sleep, clutching her stomach as she tastes the acidic bile and iron on her tongue. even before she became an assassin, she had friends like azumi at the orphanage, but she was almost always alone in the end. she would take care of the younger kids; she’d make their beds and feed them if the adults were too busy. she would care for them, but nobody ever cared for her.

 

the whispers of the past only give her a headache, and she allows herself to cry for one more minute. when she tires out, she moves the tangled mess of hair from her face and rolls on the other (and, by now, drier) side of the bed, wishing herself goodnight and good riddance in the same breath.

 

on nights like this, she wonders if she’s better off dead.

  


_honey, what's your hurry?_

  


“hey kaito, i- oh, harukawa-san!” saihara stutters as maki steps behind momota on the training grounds.

 

“she’s here to train with us! a hundred push ups, c’mon!”

 

“a _hundred?_ ”

 

maki almost laughs. a hundred push ups? she could do them for hours, continuously, in the blazing sun. she could run around the perimeter of this hell until she drops dead. she could take a knife wound and not even blink. she could-

 

“w-what?! how are you-- ngh!-- d-doing them so fast?”

 

“you’ve just gotta get stronger, shuichi!”

 

don’t think. just move. she just had to finish up these last twenty and she can leave. so she can be alone. 

 

alone. 

 

“feel the sweat wash away your fears and insecurities, and- maki roll, where are you going?”

 

“i’ve done one hundred. now, i’ll be returning to my room. goodnight saihara, momota.”

 

she stands up, turns her back, and walks carefully, avoiding the urge to run back to her lab, where she was safe. considering how many weapons that room has, it was ironic. it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, but what didn’t these days?

 

if she closes her eyes and imagines the faces of her victims, she can almost taste the coppery blood her mouth would contain as she threw up next to the man she had just assassinated. blood poured from his chest like a flower, staining her mind and the grass. 

 

the feeling, the memory… it feels like a death sentence. 

  


_won’t you stay inside?_

  


“maki roll!”

 

“don’t call me that.”

 

“fine, maki.”

 

“what do you want?”

 

“come with me to breakfast.”

 

“absolutely not.”

 

“you hung out with me an shuichi yesterday-”

 

“and i didn’t want to.”

 

momota sighs, “why are you doing this, maki roll? don’t you want to be with your friends?”

 

maki scoffs from behind the door, “friends? every day, we are eating with future murderers and victims. there’s no point in having friends. i’ve never needed them before, and i don’t need them now. now get the hell out.”

 

“i’m not going to leave!”

 

“GET OUT!” 

 

her scream makes her flinch, and she can feel the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

 

when the footsteps grew distant and the silence suffocated her, maki practically collapses on the floor. her chest heaves and her fingers tug at her hair, twitching at the thought of wrapping it around her throat. momota is a dumbass if he thinks that maki would ever be able to be around the others comfortably.

 

god. god god god god god god god…

 

why does she want to give him a chance?

  


_remember not to get too close to stars_

_they’re never gonna give you love like ours_

  


it’s only been a few days, and maki doesn’t know who she is anymore. she’s become friends with saih- shuichi; she trains with him and momota now. all the strength she used to have, the temper that protected her from her own emotions, and the cold heart that time had created…

 

gone. everything that kept maki safe was gone.

 

love is more of a killer than she is.

 

no, she doesn’t love him, she’s being illogical right now. nothing is wrong. she’s cold and she’s alone and she doesn’t need anybody else. because nobody needs her. 

 

_when those who weren’t in the seance walk into the room, they see the dead body of tenko chabashira. momota immediately screams and, on impulse, wraps his arms around maki. she feels her entire world freeze, yet it feels so warm. she wants to move but doesn’t want to be apart from him. but she is maki harukawa, and she is cold, so she pushes him away and kicks him in the shin, hoping that she isn’t too far gone yet._

 

she’s spiraling again.

 

she stares at the ceiling of her room, and if she squints she can see an aquarius constellation. stars were beautiful, weren’t they. so eternal, so utterly good. god, what was kaito- momota. _momota._

 

what was he doing to her?

 

he’s so stupid and harsh and filled with ridiculous optimism, but maki doesn’t feel like a killer around him. and as much as she hates admitting it, she likes that. 

 

she knows she can’t, though.

 

she needs to be in control after independence was constantly taken from her. she needs to repress her feelings and retrain her heart, and control something in this world. but this is a gruesome prison of death, and any emotion she has is now captured by some… some stranger. some... god, they’re probably friends now.

 

she loves him.

 

_dammit._

 

maki loves him.

 

no. NO. something’s wrong, no no no no no no no n-

 

* * *

 

and she snaps out of it.

 

* * *

  


_where did you go?_

_i should know, but it's cold_

_and I don't wanna be lonely_

_so show me the way home_

  


“maki? maki, are you in there? can you come out, please? i have food for you, uhm… i got some chocolate too! you like chocolate, yeah? please!” 

 

maki shakes her head, despite the fact shuichi couldn’t see her, and sobs in reply. her mind fills with different memories of the past; the eternal reminders of the 53rd killing game. times when she ignored, cried about, trained with, and fell in love with kaito, luminary of the stars. 

 

she loves him.

 

she loved him.

 

and he isn’t dead, no, it would be better if he was. she had seen him “die” in the fictional game, and the pain of that was nowhere near this hell she’s currently in. she’s used to death.

 

_but she’s not an assassin anymore._

 

_maybe to kaito, she never was._

 

but he’s a different person now. the man she loved was an illusion carefully crafted by shirogane. she watched him “die” and now she has to watch him talk openly on TV about how he doesn’t have any interest in reaching out to the other survivors. he got the money and publicity he so desperately desired, and he has no business with the 53rd killing game participants.

 

that’s a partial lie. he called maki once. a conversation that had begun so awkwardly, so forced, and so hollow; the menace in his voice formed soft words as inadequately as a baby learning to speak, asking how she was and she lied and she lied. the conversation was going nowhere until maki had given an artificial excuse and cut the line.

 

and he hasn’t called since.

 

(she wishes he would, because the fake sympathy and fake love he gave was worth it. maybe there was no love, though. she may have imagined that: she was high when he called. that’s probably the only reason she picked up.)

 

out of all the killing game participants, kaito changed the most. the rest genuinely try to keep contact with the survivors, or talk to them at mandatory full-group interviews. some of them aren’t that different; ryoma is similar to his false self, as if shirogane was tired of making heroes and decided he wasn’t important enough to be more. angie, too, is as odd as she used to be; kirumi is still a mother, though more resemblant of a mother bear.

 

then there are those who are different but _try._

 

kaede, who is more recluse and still has no faith in humanity, went out to get coffee with shuichi. the difference from her old self was clear: no conversation was comfortable, and most of the meeting remained in silence. but by the end, kaede thanked him, and every once in a while, she’ll give him a call.

 

it’s not enough for shuichi, but soon, maybe kaede will change. 

 

rantaro perplexed the media, as he disappears from the world for months, raising concern until he returns, giving no indication where he may have been. he no longer had any siblings to find, after all. he was an only child and an orphan. 

 

maki wasn’t expecting to hear from him, but one day, rantaro visited the three survivors in their apartment with muffins and an apology. when shuichi asked him how he got there, he told them he used GPS but still got lost. it was sadly ironic.

 

the same sort of sadness in rantaro’s expression had enveloped maki when she opened the door, expecting, _hoping_ , to see kaito. 

 

rantaro hasn’t changed, really. he’s just… more broken. more lost. 

 

then there are the survivors.

 

despite the press and drama the new personalities caused, team danganronpa had determined that, for the most despair possible, the survivors would keep their game personalities and memories, which they managed to implement in their real-world brain. nobody was quite sure how that worked, but nobody really cared anyway. nobody wanted to play with broken toys, so the survivors were ignored, apart from a few events danganronpa participants were required to attend. 

 

(during these events, shuichi, maki, and himiko would cling together: kaede’s nihilistic words fucked with shuichi’s head; maki was obviously avoiding kaito, but sometimes it was impossible; himiko couldn’t be around any of the old killers, as she was scared that she would be hurt. all the participants would watch the survivors with something like humanity in their eyes, while team danganronpa observed them as if they were lab rats.)

 

whether team danganronpa’s decision was for the better or not, maki is unsure. she knows shuichi is relieved to not be a danganronpa freak fanatic, but himiko still wonders what she once was. real world tenko was a lot more shy, and maybe real world himiko was a lot more energetic. maybe they could have fit better than their lethargic phone calls.

 

she tries not to, but himiko wonders.

 

maki does too. 

 

but that’s besides the point. 

 

after meeting them all, maki discovered those who changed mostly know of the troubles the survivors have. they have an ounce of sympathy, a piece of their artificial selves, and _are still fucking there_ …

 

but none of that matters to maki.

 

because kaito isn’t like the others. he has no empathy, no awareness, no remnant of his optimistic, passionate self…

 

kaito isn’t there anymore, and he never will be. 

 

“maki, are you crying? please, tell me and himiko what’s wrong! i-i know you miss him. i do too. and, and his birthday is tomorrow but _please._ ”

 

“nyeh, let us in! i’d open the door with magic, but i’m too tired. come on, maki roll-”

 

“ _himiko._ ”

 

“sorry.”

 

maki roll maki roll maki roll maki roll maki roll-

 

the knocking matches the rhythm of kaito’s final coughs. she can’t stand it. she wants to sink to the floor as she stands up, one hand covering her ringing ears and the other reaching for the lock.

 

“hey... hey, it’s okay. it’s going to be okay. um, thanks for opening the door. i… god, maki, i’m so sorry.”

 

“nyeh? i’ll go get water!” the small redhead turns around and unsteadily walks to the kitchen, her newly diagnosed narcolepsy getting the best of her. it was cruel: himiko finally got her energy back, only for team danganronpa to take it from her.

 

everything is so cruel. maki can’t, she can’t-

 

she falls.

 

shuichi’s arms wrap around her as she sobs into his neck, hyperventilating. her body shakes and she whispers apologies and _god i fucking miss him bring him back bring him back i’d kill myself if he could just hold me one more time i want to kill myself anyway bring him back._

 

“make it stop,” she chokes out, “please.”

 

“m-maki…”

 

“i can’t do this without him.”

 

“maki, stay with us.”

 

_i can’t lose another life._

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaa that was a rollercoaster
> 
> sorry if that was terrible, i'm not amazing at keeping smooth transitions but i hope you like it?
> 
> most of the post-game personalities are my own personal headcanons: i like the idea that most of them would attempt contact with the survivors, but it's bittersweet because it's not going to be perfect like it used to be. also, i know the survivors keeping their personalities may not make a ton of sense; the idea was that team danganronpa kinda wanted to f*ck with them as much as possible. that's why himiko, who was just becoming energetic, has narcolepsy, and overall, more suffering kinda comes to them with their old personalities.
> 
> i know it may not make much sense, but i hope it's okay??? maybe??/ sorry???
> 
> anyway, comments are appreciated (as you can gather by now i have no self esteem lmao), as well as critiques, so i can write better things! i'll also take any story suggestions
> 
> sorry for the long notes, i'm pretty sure that's everything i had to address. have a nice day, and if not, i hope it gets better!
> 
> okay sorry bye now


End file.
